


blood brothers

by ozmissage



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Restraints, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-23
Updated: 2011-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozmissage/pseuds/ozmissage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Stefan rampages. Damon obsesses. Alaric just does his best to keep up.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	blood brothers

They follow the trail of bodies from the foothills of Kentucky north to New York City and then across the ocean to sleepy English hamlets and the actual, fucking moors of Scotland. Stefan rampages. Damon obsesses. Alaric just does his best to keep up.

They’re sitting in a rented car thick with the scent of sweat and dirty clothes. Alaric dimly remembers a time when he was still young and vampires were just a surefire way to get into his girlfriend’s pants (somewhere, a box full of Anne Rice books sits collecting dust in the back of his closet, the irony is not lost on him). He dreamed about seeing the world then. He never imagined it would be like this, his arms sticking to worn vinyl seats as he sweats on a long Spanish night, an actual vampire sprawled in the backseat, berating him for being human and requiring so much sleep.

“He’s not here anymore,” Alaric snaps just to shut Damon up. “You know that as well as I do. He catches scent of us and gets the hell out of Dodge.”

“You want to go home, Ric? Then fucking go home.”

Alaric sighs, twists in his seat to get a better look at Damon in the back. His body is visibly tense, muscles taught and he’s got _that_ look, the one that seems to force Alaric to follow him to the ends of the earth as if he has no will of his own. It’s a mix of guilt and determination and stubbornness and something else, something uniquely Damon that Alaric can’t describe, but he knows it when he sees it.

“I’m not going home,” Alaric says, his voice soft.

Damon widens his eyes in mock delight. Alaric wonders if sincerity would actually kill him.

“Hallelujah, can we go look for my brother before he finds another human happy meal to snack on now?”

“Sure, Damon, whatever you want.”

*

Stefan’s body is humming. Or maybe he is. Yes, he thinks he is.

Dizzy suddenly, he laughs at nothing at all, lets his tongue dart out to lap at the stray drops of blood lingering on his lips. A girl lies at his feet. He doesn’t know her name, but she tasted like vodka.

He can feel Damon like a phantom string, pulling him closer, pulling him back, _blood of my blood_ , Stefan thinks. _It’s thicker than water_ , someone said that once. A lot of someones. But Stefan remembers the words coming from his father’s mouth, an admonishment for some childish transgression between his sons.

If he stands still long enough, Damon will catch him.

Stefan laughs again, drops to the ground beside the dead girl and waits.

*  
Alaric slows him down. Damon knows he should put him on the first plane back to Mystic Falls. It’s not his fight and when things go south, he’ll be the first one to die. But Damon wants someone with him. It’s a weakness, but one he’s willing to indulge now more than ever. More than that he wants the person at his side to be Ric. But he has no intentions of telling Ric that.

They’re climbing a winding set of cobblestone steps, Alaric one flight behind. The sun is setting and Damon knows that Stefan will be on the hunt soon. He always did prefer the night, _such a cliché_ , Damon would tease as his little brother slipped away to stalk rabbits and deer in the woods. _It’s practical, Damon,_ Stefan would shoot back.

Damon misses that balance, that give and take, craves it in fact. His world is off kilter now that it’s his job to act the hero, a role he knows he’ll never be fit to play. Not like his hopeless, self-sacrificing jackass of a brother. He wishes that he hated Stefan. But he doesn’t and he can’t.

Stefan’s close. Closer than he has been before. Damon pauses, closes his eyes and listens.

“He’s here,” Damon says.

Alaric is beside him again, his hands resting on his knees, breathing heavily. He looks up at Damon with more trust than he deserves. Damon makes one more wish, a better one this time, he wishes for Alaric to make it out of this little vacation of theirs alive.

“You sure?” Alaric asks.

Damon nods.

“I can hear him. He’s calling my name.”

*

The vampires circle each other, their eyes locked, and Alaric feels like an intruder. Tension hangs in the air with a litany of things left unsaid. Alaric gets the distinct feeling they’ve been here before.

“Darkside never looked good on you, little brother,” Damon says with a smirk that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Stefan shrugs, somehow infusing a usually innocuous gesture with menace. Alaric can’t see a trace of the old Stefan left in this man, but still Damon edges closer, hand outstretched.

“Elena’s blaming herself for this, you know that? You remember Elena, right? Love of your life? That should ring a few bells.”

Stefan raises a finger to his bloodstained lips and Alaric shivers, wonders if Damon will hate him if he has to kill his brother, wonders if he would even have a chance to do the job before Stefan ripped his throat out.

As if he can hear his thoughts, Stefan turns to Alaric.

“I see you brought your pet,” Stefan chuckles.

“Leave him out of this,” Damon hisses and Stefan seems to take the words as a challenge because he’s on Alaric before he can blink. Alaric staggers back, hands groping for something to hold onto, he presses the release on the stake at his wrist and plunges it blindly into Stefan’s shoulder at the exact moment Damon stabs the needle into Stefan’s neck. Stefan’s body goes limp, but it’s too late, Stefan’s teeth hit their mark.

“You okay?” Damon asks, as he lowers his brother to the ground.

Alaric touches his neck; his hand comes away drenched in blood. Damon pales and Alaric takes that as a bad sign.

“Well, at least we found him,” Alaric says shakily.

Damon shakes his head as he kneels down beside Alaric. He moves closer until Alaric can feel Damon’s breath on his wound and then Damon is pressing a gentle kiss against the puncture marks, his tongue lapping at the errant flood of blood, hissing slightly at the taste of vervain. Damon pulls back.

“I told you to go home.”

“Since when do I take orders from you?” Alaric muttters, still pressing the wound at his neck.

“Always.”

Damon uses his teeth to open a vein in his wrist and forces Alaric to drink. He gags at first, but he can feel the blood working through his system, healing him. He was never one for drugs, even back in college, but he imagines this is very close to the high his roommate was always chasing.

“Try not to die in the next twenty-four hours, okay, buddy?” Damon says before placing a lingering bloody kiss to Alaric’s forehead.

He turns away before Alaric can respond, his attention returning to his mercifully unconscious brother.

*

Stefan wakes to find himself strapped to a bed, the ropes binding his arms and feet laced with just enough vervain to keep him weak. His mind is a jumble of thoughts, the events of the past few months melding with the events of the last few hours. The only clear thought he has is that he wanted this. He wanted to be found.

“Morning, sunshine,” Damon says and Stefan turns his head in the direction of his brother’s voice. Damon’s lounging beside the bed, his long body draped gracefully across a chair. “Still crazy?”

“Let me go, Damon,” Stefan demands. Damon shakes his head.

“No.”

Stefan strains against the ropes and feels a scream bubbling in his throat as every twist brings the vervain in contact with his skin. He wants to be free, wants it desperately, but he’s not sure what exactly he wants freedom from---this room or Klaus or fucking Damon or himself.

“Please,” Stefan knows he’s begging, can hear the sound in his voice and resents himself for it. “I can’t do this, not again. Just…let me go. Walk away.”

Damon is beside Stefan in the blink of an eye, his face perilously close to Stefan’s. He runs a hand through his brother’s hair and leans down to meet his lips, his mouth is cool against Stefan’s feverish skin and he tastes familiar, like Damon, and someone else---

“Alaric?” Stefan mutters against Damon’s mouth. “Did I…”

The sound of someone clearing their throat draws Stefan's attention to Alaric lingering by the door. He smiles lightly.

“I’m not dead yet, but I’d appreciate it if you would keep your teeth to yourself. At least for a few more hours.”

“Ric’s not looking to join our ranks,” Damon says, as he gives his brother’s cheek an almost affectionate pat.

Stefan swallows and closes his eyes. He’s been down this road before. He’s not looking forward to the next part.

“Klaus will come for us,” he says.

He feels the sudden absence of Damon’s weight as he gets up from the bed.

“We know that.”

“We just don’t care,” Alaric adds.

*

Stefan’s screams echo through the abandoned house and Damon imagines them reverberating through the mountains to find Klaus’s ears, to bring him to their door. Alaric stands beside him, the pale light of the moon illuminating his face as they stand guard together.

“He’ll get through this,” Alaric reassures.

“You are too damn optimistic for your own good, Ric.”

“It’s a curse.”

Damon half smiles. He’s very glad that Alaric’s still among the living.

“It’s really not,” Damon says.

Another scream pierces the air and Alaric flinches. He’s clearly never had the joy of listening to a vampire detox before.

“I guess you're right,” he says simply and takes Damon’s hand without asking or hesitating. This is a new, but not at all unpleasant development.

Damon lets him.


End file.
